Down into customs past the man with baby blue swastika eyes and the stench of reindeer meat in the frying air. A passport, a skin swipe, an Arabic chuckle, moon skin, airplane oil, taxidermic mirror reflection, bags of wet paperwork, Donald Trump chocolate Air-Guitar, the villain of the West dragging the mosh crew through tidal waves of the sun through airports rich with off shore bank account vipers and mail-order brides, keep it on the hush-hush, keep your insides hush, sleep is a relic, can a thought be xeroxed? Inside, Outside, on the sidelines, the skids, the firing line, the ticket taker, the mad bitch isolator and birth certified for endless summer sun caretakers, ambulance chasers, morgue cheerleaders and Icelandic breakdancers. Death fun denim jeans, a man inside of an airport for too long is a man turned inside out. The wallet works as a wand. No time for TV, I AM the TV. Hooked into an IV, power drip, sustenance through retina clearance and sit up straight, look into the smile and try to remember your name.